


The DTF Chronicles

by Sea_Dukes_Assistant



Category: British Royalty RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sea Duke is horny af, Traumatic Brain Injury, dude sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sea_Dukes_Assistant/pseuds/Sea_Dukes_Assistant
Summary: Continuation of "Closed Mouths Don't Get Fed."  This nonsense serves as an outlet for my impure thoughts, and also serves as therapy because yeah I suffered a severe traumatic brain injury.  I've tried to organize this collection of one-shots in some sort of chronological order, but I can make no guarantees as to a strict timeline.  I've written it with the mental image of both the Queen and Prince Philip in their late 30s.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been one of those days. Things went right, but some of the high-ranking staff were feeling their oats and exhibited some assholery regarding my trauma. I chalked it up to merely being jealous at the surprising amount of freedom I’m allowed to have here. Either that, or some are disgruntled at basically having to deal with, for all intense and purposes, a near carbon-copy of His Royal BAMFness.

I sigh heavily and fall backward onto my bed. After a few minutes, I reach for my Royal Navy greatcoat and make my customary nest. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind of the tension.

“Are you having a bloody wank or what?”

How is he so stealthy? Oh, right…he doesn’t travel with a pack of dogs all over the place.

“No…,” I reply.

“So what are you doing then?”

I take a deep breath, because I realize how weird what’s going to come out will sound rather weird. “Nesting, sir.”

“You’re what? Birds nest. Ships nest. You are neither.” He sounds both amused and confused.

“It helps calm me down, sir.”

“Oh.” There’s a bit of silence. “Well, do you mind sharing?”

Did he really ask to share my greatcoat nest? Shit…this really was getting to be A Thing.

“Um, no, but nobody’s ever asked before, and I’m honestly confused. You’re a grown ass man and…all I am is a…broken shell of that.” I swallow my emotion.

“Who told you that.”

I remain silent, not wanting to drop names, or come off as complaining. As usual, my eyes give it away.

“It was my wife’s equerry, wasn’t it?”

I nod, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Oh bollocks. He can’t even handle being told to shut up. I don’t even know where they found him he bloody well was never at sea.”

I snicker.

“So are you going to bloody share your…’nest’ or not?”

“I don’t have a shirt on,” I warn him.

“And? I might not have pants on by the end of this what’s your point?”

“Oh god, no he didn’t,” I laugh inwardly to myself. 

“Besides,” he continues, “considering you demonstrated your sword swallowing technique the other night I think we’re well passed that schoolboy nonsense.”

I feel my face get red again, but he does have a point. I turn onto my side and lift up one side of my greatcoat as in invitation. To my surprise, he removes his tie and shirt before laying down next to me. I’m honestly conflicted, because on one hand I’m not averse to things like this, at least not with him, but I cannot fathom exactly why he would want to do this. I am not on the same level as the Queen in his life, nor would I ever expect to be. I feel my eyes get big and I space out again.

“What’s wrong now?” he asks, mildly concerned.

“I just…am not used to…uh…whatever it is that’s going on right now.”

“Bollocks.”

“No I’m really not, sir. Also, um, if I can be perfectly honest, I’m having a hard time understanding what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is you’re thinking too much,” he says matter-of-factly. “I understand why you have trouble with it, and before you go down the wrong path no, I do not see you as just an easy way to get off. And yes, my wife is aware; we had a long chat about it. She’s actually not surprised, because she can read people like a book and was also waiting on you to admit it. If anything, she’s somewhat relieved, as it gives her a break.”

I sit up, flustered at the last bit of information. “Am I that easy to read?!”

“Well, she’s been around me long enough to tell when a man’s trying to hide an erection….and yes, I’ve noticed early on. Do you mind? There’s a draft.”

I sigh and flop back down on my back.

“You’re problem is you over think everything,” he tells me, rolling over and hovering over me. Aaaannnndddd cue my pants getting uncomfortable in an almost embarrassingly quick fashion. Somehow, how notices, and grinds against me. I take another deep breath to avoid the chance of making any potentially embarrassing noise.

“And you wonder how I knew,” he says, smirking at me.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh god. Da fuq. 

I am blessed with a headache. Not only that, but um, I am not in my own bed. This is rather awkward…and also out of character for me. I rub my eyes and begin to take inventory. OK, there’s my clothes in a pile on the floor, that’s not unusual…and an empty wine bottle, which is also not unusual…WAIT. ARE THOSE MY SKIVVIES? I’M NAKED? WHAT IS GOING ON.

I roll onto my back, and am slightly relieved to discover I’m alone. “What is going on…” I grumble, “I don’t understand my life.” At this point it dawns on me my muscles are slightly sore as well. “Why. Why do I ache. “ I cover my face with my hands and sigh, dreading at getting out of bed. “They better have some dang BC Powder up in this place…”

A servant enters the room, in an effort to make whoever’s bed I’m in I assume. Surprisingly, he asks no questions, in fact he pays me no mind at all, except to wish me a good morning, and asking me if I’d like him to take my clothes down to laundry. I inform him he doesn’t need to bother, and that I’d collect them myself. With more grumbling, I sit up, and get out of bed. Yup. Definitely naked. Thank you, drafty wonder that is Buckingham Palace. I put my skivvies back on, gather up the rest of my clothes, and wander back to my own room, not giving a fuck if anyone sees me. After being on a ship, walking around a bunch of dudes in my skivvies with a semi-hangover was no big deal. As I’m walking, it clicks that I. WAS IN. SIR’S BED. WHAT THE FUCK. Wide-eyed, I go into my room, drop my clothes on the floor, and let out a high pitched noise I wasn’t aware I could produce into my hands. I give myself a few smacks to make sure I am, in fact, awake, and yes I very much am. 

My instinct is to hide in my greatcoat nest, but no, I must shower. I feel like I got ran over again, and I’m also cold. THEN I will get in my nest. I drink some water, remove my skivvies (apparently for the 2nd time), and turn the shower on. After cleansing the feeling of last night off myself, I sit under the stream of water and contemplate how I’m gonna face the day.

“What is my life.”

 

After what seems like forever, I realize there really isn’t a graceful way of handling a “morning after” following what at this point I can only assume was a drunken sex thing, and with a heavy sigh I turn the water off and proceed to prepare myself for the day. After getting dressed, I briefly contemplate not shaving or fixin’ my hair because fuck it I’m hungover, but figure I best do both anyway. Ma’am doesn’t much care for face hair, and I don’t need any negative attention from His Royal BAMFness. I already feel like death and, as I discovered at seeing myself in the mirror, I kinda looked it too.

Once I’m as presentable as I can manage, I begin the trek to my office. Just as I get there, the Queen’s equerry, who’s name I probably should know but don’t (I just call him Dickquerry in my head), is waiting…with his shoes that I didn’t shine. 

“Well,” he says, rather haughtily, “aren’t we just a ray of sunshine this morning. Can’t hold your alchohol?”

I roll me eyes. “Can I help you, or are you just here to take up my oxygen?”

“Yes actually,” he says, practically shoving his shoes at me. “I gave you the wine you wanted, and I expect these to be like mirrors.”

“Dude, I asked for that because the other day you were the epitome of douchebaggery and I figured good wine was the least you owed me for pulling that shit. “

“I beg your pardon! I said no such thing!”

“Uh, yeah you did. Uh first there was your assumption that I’m not worth anything, so then you tried to have me do menial tasks for you as if I was your personal servant. Then you said some shit about me not knowing how to handle basic shit and how it must be a drag for Prince Philip to ‘baby sit me,’ which by the way he doesn’t, and THEN. THEN! You had the nerve to demand I do something for you because you have this weird notion that you’re better than me, whether by a rank you no longer have, or because of who you work for, or by sheer virtue of you existing. So no, I will not shine your shoes. You can do it yourself. And if you have anything further to complain about, there’s the complaint department,” I punctuate my tirade by pointing in the direction of Sir’s office. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a headache which, I might add, is far more pleasant to deal with then you, so I’m going to set up a coffee IV drip and get the fuck on with my day. BYE FLEICIA.” I angrily and enter my office, turning around to give him one more glare before closing the door. 

“Ass,” I mutter to myself as I make my coffee. “I’m too hungover for this shit.” As I take my first sip, I hear the door open and I let out another long, Zen like sigh, thinking Dickquerry wants to argue some more.

“Ah I was wondering when you’d join the world of the living!”

My heart stops. It’s His Royal BAMFess, and he seems more cheery than usual at this time of day. He must have heard Dickquerry and I having it out.

“Yes sir, I’m alive. Just barely.” I take another sip of coffee. “Sorry if I disturbed you with my tirade just now.”

“Well it bloody well saved me from doing it so no matter.”

A wave of relief washes over me, and I debate if I should ask about last night. I turn around to face him, coffee mug to my lips to keep me from saying anything stupid. I take another drink.

“Sir, why am I sore?” I ask hesitantly.

“Are you?” I pick up a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Yes. Not terribly, but…my back kinda aches.”

“Oh. Well, the wife found you in the hallway…you were contemplating the ceiling rather hard.”

“Is she mad at me?”

“Fuck no she’s seen me do worse. She was concerned though, and didn’t want you by yourself, so —“

“So that explains why I didn’t wake up in my bed.”

“Yes.

“Why the hell did I get naked?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I don’t sleep naked…ever.”

“Ah. Well, apparently you were ready to go at it, but had difficulty going full mast.”

“Oh no I didn’t,” I hide my face in my hands, mortified at myself. “Sir I promise that is not a typical thing I don’t get drunk and want to fuck oh my god I’m sorry.”

“No apparently you get drunk and want to give me blow jobs.”

Yup. There it is. I feel my face burning and I’m sure my pulse is dropping.

“I dunno why you’re upset; I’m not.”

“It was probably terrible.”

“Well if that was terrible, I’d love to see what you’re best is.”

“What is my life,” I say to nobody in particular as I sit down at my desk. “I need to nest.” I resume drinking my coffee.

“Although I will say one day it’s going to get to the point when you’re in my bed for an entirely different reason. “ He smirks at me again, and I nearly spill coffee on myself. “Anyway, when you get yourself together and stop trying to inhale your coffee, I’d like a briefing on what my wife’s ship has been up to.”

“Yes sir,” I say between sputters. 

His Royal BAMFness, feeling rather pleased with himself I imagine, heads back to his office.

“I am too hungover for this shit…” I mutter,as I turn on my laptop. I sit back as it runs its boot sequence, and can’t help the stupid smile creeping up on my face.


	3. Chapter 3

I stare down the damaged circuit card brought to me for repair, trying to find exactly what the issue is.

“Ah, there you are, you bastard,” I say to myself once I’ve located the offending component. Incidentally, Sea Duke picked that exact moment to come into my office, for out of nowhere came “I live here where the hell else would I be?”

“No I was talking to this burnt up resistor I found,” I explain, taking off my magnifying goggles.

“Oh. Well anyway, there’s some things that need sorting out,” he says, placing a bottle of beer on my desk. I can only assume this is a Big Deal because not often does he bring me drinks. I look at my beer, then at him, my eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Basically,” he begins, taking a seat, “I’ve noticed unless you’ve been drinking, you get tense and I’d like to know why.” He takes a drink of his own beer.

Contemplating my answer, something that takes longer for me to do these days, I a deep breath, followed by a swig of beer. 

“I don’t…really understand it myself sir, to be honest. I think…” I pause to find something to do with my hands, settling for twirling a pen. “I think mostly it’s that I don’t…I’ve never had that kind of attention from anyone. I don’t know how to handle it; I guess I’ve just always been emotionally inept in that area. But…I think a lot of it also has to do with my near constant fear of being rejected…I mean, there’s a lot I feel is not in my favor.” 

“Like what?” He’d been listening surprisingly intently, something I didn’t expect.

“Well, there’s the royalty factor, which isn’t personally a big deal but at the same time I’m painfully aware that I am not part of that. It’s a stark contrast to where I come from, how I’ve lived, and I’m aware some people around here look down on me because of that. Then there’s the fact that the Queen is also your wife, and that has me tripping balls because quite frankly why would you bother with me when you have her? I mean, let’ be honest here…if things weren’t the way they are I’d make a valiant effort myself. “ I take another drink of beer, relieved that not only am I getting all this out in the open, but that that last remark got him to smirk. “And there have been times where I really, really, wanted to uh, engage in more…uh…I guess ‘scandalous’ would be the right word, behavior, but I didn’t because I don’t want to either cross the line I already have to balance, or risk making anyone uncomfortable. So, as bad as this is going to sound, the beer does actually turn that self-preservation off and I can act more easily on instinct and not think about anything else.”

There’s a silence, which seems to last forever, as he contemplates everything and I fight the urge to nest because I’ve just bared my soul to the man I not only admire but apparently also with whom I'm a friend with benefits? I mean, this is ok with me but holy shit did I just do that? I’m more mortified than when I polished his sword!

“Nevermind the royal bit,” he tells me.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“Well think about it. Why do I not require you to bother with the usual formalities? Why do I let you have the freedom that you do? I’m not bothered by it. I can appreciate the fact that you try to respect it but fuck that; I was in your position myself. I know it’s bloody intimidating. I’m not going to chew you out because you don’t bow to my wife every morning. As for the other things, my wife is actually surprised we haven’t fucked yet, and fuck sake I fought a bloody war nothing you do or say can make me uncomfortable. Or the Queen, for that matter. She’s heard me tell the Prime Minister to fuck off she cares fuck all about it. You’re a bloody sailor; it’s expected. The more you try to become the institution you’re in, the more of yourself you will lose. And who you are is one of the biggest reasons I keep you around. You work hard, you don’t take any of this too serious, you’re amusing if not hilarious, and you handle the 8” gun probably a bit better than the wife does.” 

I take another swig of beer, trying not to laugh. “Thank you, sir. I do feel better about all this…I guess I just needed to hear it.”

“Good. Now finish your beer. We need to plot our war games strategy. And then make sure the 8” gun’s good and clean.” He winks at me as he finishes his beer.

 

“Hmm…maybe late for a promotion…maybe a letter of appreciation…” Sea Duke muses, a bit breathlessly.

“Heh, sir that won’t be necessary,” I say, cracking a smile as I wipe any excess from my mouth. I might not be British but I’m far from uncivilized…despite my penchant for alcohol and four letter words. It occurred to me I was blushing a bit; I’m still not used to being complimented on a talent that generally isn’t held in high regard. Though to be fair to myself, there’s not exactly a list of other guys I’d do that for. I roll onto my back and lie next to him, releasing a quiet sigh of contentment. 

“I’m serious,” he says, “I could write one ‘for personal services to the Duke of Edinburgh.’”

‘Well THAT is definitely the understatement of the year,” I say. “Imagine me explaining that to my chain of command…’I dunno Chief I guess he liked how I ran my clusterfuck of a blog?’”

“Well it IS better than the actual press I get.”

I roll to my left and reach down to pick up my shirt.

Sea Duke props himself up on his elbows. “Where are you going?” Again, more of an inquisition than curiosity.

“Um, to my own bed, sir,” I reply, a bit confused.

“Why.” This wasn’t a question. Rather it was “officer code” for “I didn’t tell you to so why are you doing it?”

“Well…” I begin, searching for a way to explain myself, “…I…I need to nest.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but the reality was I never, ever expected him to want me to stay.

“You’re not a bird, or a ship. “

“Well, no, but –“ I started, but the look on his face was one that didn’t invite discussion. “Duly noted,” I say, taking of my pants and actually getting into bed. As usual, I tried to not make a big deal of it, but inwardly I was fangirling like a motherfucker. Holy shit. My life.

“Skivvies too,” he ordered, gesturing at my boxers.

“Uh, I’m not really comfortable with—“ More officer staring. “OK.” I reluctantly comply with his order, immediately regretting it. “Sir it’s cold.”

Without saying a word, he rolls over on and lays on top of me, making sure to look me directly in the eyes.

“That has occurred to me, since your nipples are indicting such. But you need to get used to this, because one day, the only difference will be me fucking you senseless.”

I’d never felt my eyes get that wide before.


	4. Chapter 4

As I began to reach post-sleep consciousness, I came to two conclusions: 1) His Royal BAMFness is surprisingly into cuddling, and 2) I have morning wood, which although not unusual, is a bit bothersome and annoying.

“Fuck,” I think to myself, “how to I negotiate this I can’t just ask him to jerk me off that’s rude. “ But I was also in the predicament where I couldn’t take care of it myself, mainly due to the fact that regardless of how stealthy I tried to be, I’d inevitably wake him up, and I wasn’t about to risk starting the day off with the Lord High Admiral of the Royal Navy having a rant at me in the finest traditions of the naval service. “Why is my life so goddamn difficult,” I muse.

My plotting is interrupted by the feeling of a hand that was not my own sliding down my stomach and onto my weaponry. Now I was definitively awake, but also wondering what in the fuck was going on, because I am awkward and no event in my life would be complete without me inwardly panicking. I decided to keep my mouth shut and not move, and see what exactly would happen, although I did inadvertently tense up.

“Relax.” 

HOW IS IT HE IS SO PUT TOGETHER AND OFFICER LIKE AT THIS HOUR? I CAN BARELY PUT WORDS IN A COHERENT ORDER??? I try my best, but this is something I honestly was never prepared to deal with. He’s pressed up against my back, arm draped over me, and his hand is on the 6” gun the Navy did not train me for this. I take a deep breath in an effort to do as he says, and steady my nerves.

“So, what are we going to do about this?” He asks, his obviously rhetorical question punctuated by a few strokes on my 6” gun.

“Sir, respectfully, my manhood is literally in your hands I don’t feel the decision is mine,” I reply, trying to maintain my dignity. 

“Hm. Well, let me know when you make up your mind,” he says, his hand idly working at increasing my blood pressure.

I hide my face in the crook of my arm, trying to deal with the rush of hormones and other shit in my head that prohibit words. I know what he’s doing; he’s either trying to get me to be more vocal in this, uh, can I even use the word relationship?…or he’s trying to get to me ask him to bang me. And it’s working. Holy shit is it working.

“Sir,” I begin, halting myself from saying the rest of it.

“What?”

I take a deep breath. “I really need a wank,” I finally say on the exhale.

“Obviously!”

“No I mean,” another sigh, this time not due to my anxiety, as I position myself for better access to my weaponry.

“Oh! You want me to do it!” His Royal BAMFness feigns being surprised at this.

Before I can say anything else, his ministrations become more focused, and any ability to form coherent thought starts to fade away. I’m fairly certain he’s doing that damned officer smirk he does though.

Somewhat unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for me to become completely lost in what he’s doing, words degrade into noise and sighs, and I find myself having a firm grip on his other arm which he somehow managed to wrap around my chest. My leg muscles begin to twitch, and my breathing beings to become a bit more labored. Yup. The end is near. 

I’m quickly rolled onto my back, eyes wide, right hand having made an extremely tight fist (#braintraumaproblems), and he’s fucking staring right me, with that trademark smirk of his.

“I’m really trying not to roll you over and go balls deep,” he says, still working my weaponry. HE IS FUCKING TOYING WITH ME GODDAMIT.

That was all it took. It was one of the most intense releases I’d experienced. A primal grunt I didn’t think I could ever make, more instinctive gripping onto one of his arms, a four letter word somewhere. Once my vision cleared, and my breathing began to return to normal, I finally got up the nerve to ask, “You were gonna do that anyway, weren’t you?”

“No. I thought about just getting up and letting you suffer,” he replies, that smirk still plastered on his face.

I feel my face contort into mild displeasure.

“But I know you want this dick, so I couldn’t do that to you. I also wanted to see just how much fun you could be in bed, and I wasn’t disappointed. “

“Uh…what?”

“If you make that much noise getting a morning wank, I can’t wait to give you some Royal Navy dick.”

For the second time this morning, words fail me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dickquerry lives up to his nickname again, and Sir learns the extent of how busted up I was/am. MAY TRIGGER SOME PTSD RE: personal injury if that's a thing you have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Lindsey Stirling - "Song Of The Caged Bird"

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” I grumble as I stare at the 3 burnt up circuit cards on my desk. According to the police sergeant who brought them ‘round, some rookies were tinkering with the radio equipment, which quite frankly doesn’t surprise me, and “there were sparks.” And blown resistors. And what used to be a capacitor. “Fucking hell y’all,” I sigh as I sort through my parts drawer in search of replacement components, “got dang po po touching things…this gonna be a pain in the ass.” I’m successful in my search, and lay out the good components on the corner of the desk. I make quick work of de-soldering the damaged resistors, tossing them in the trash can, which I have named in Dickquerry’s honor. I even taped a sign to it that says “SALUTE ME I WAS A MAJOR ONCE” with an angry face in hastily scrawled black Sharpie. 

I stand up and stretch, then turn on the soldering iron. While it’s heating up, I prepare the solder and flux, get myself a beer (yis I has a beer fridge in my office DUH), and, because I am not completely uncivilized, put on some Lindsey Stirling. I put on my magnifying goggles and proceed to solder this mess back together.

“Young man, I am still waiting for you to polish my shoes.” Speak of the devil…

Not bothering to look up from my work, I begin to inform him of his discrepancies. “First off, you will address me by my title, which is ET2. Also, I am working, as in, doing the actual thing which I collect a paycheck to do. Third, I do not work for you; you have no authority to order me to do anything. Lastly, I believe last time we had this discussion, I explained what I charge for such service, and you did not want to pay, something which even my boss, the Duke of Edinburgh, has the fucking common decency to do. In conclusion, your inability to have a proper shoe shine is not my fucking problem.” I pause to take a swig of beer, staring at him the entire time I do so. “Also I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking knock, and not just bust ass up in here like I owe you something WHEN I HAVE A HOT SOLDERING IRON NEAR MY HAND.” I glare at him, waiting for the apology I know he won’t give.

Dickquerry stands there awkwardly for a minute, then, heaving a huge sigh that said “I want to be right but I’m not and that’s upsetting,” turns on his heel and marches out of my office. 

“Bye Felicia!” I holler after him, then return to my work.

After about 20 more minutes, I finish repairing one card, and set it aside. I take off my magnifying goggles, lean back in my chair, and drink my beer, feeling quite satisfied with myself. Suddenly, a wild Sea Duke appears, and yes, he’s brought beer. I raise my eyebrows in hopes there’s some tea he is about to spill.

“What did he say?” His Royal BAMFness, direct as ever, opens a beer and sits on the sofa that is by far the fanciest thing in the room and I quite honestly feel to low-class to ever sit on. 

“Just tried to order me around again,” I reply, somewhat disheartened that such behavior is still A Thing. “One day he’ll say the wrong thing and I’ll go off on him, and then he’ll make me out to be the bad guy…” I say, staring into my empty beer bottle.

“No he won’t; I’ll handle that.” There’s a pause as he takes a swig of beer. “Get over here, he says.

I do as he says, moving not quite reluctant but not eagerly either, and sit at the other end of the sofa.

“Give me your leg,” he orders.

My eyeballs dart around in my head as I try to figure out why he would want me to do such a thing. I somewhat hesitantly lift my left one (the good one) and turn so it sits in his lap. 

“No, the other one.”

I tuck my good leg up against me and slowly place my “busted” leg in his lap. All the while staring somewhat wide-eyed, confused by all this. 

“Pull your pants leg up.”

Again, I do as he says, pulling the leg of my jeans up to my knee, which puts all my scars on display.

It occurs to me that this is as much of a trust exercise for me s it is a learning experience for him. There’s a certain level of intimacy dealing with such things, and even though mine are far from my heart, they are part of what makes me who I am; the same with the invisible injury I have.

“Are all of these from the same thing?” He asks, looking at all of them.

“Yes sir,” I reply.

He lightly runs his finger over the one halfway up my shin, which sticks out mostly due to the still bruise-like discoloration around the skin in that area. 

That’s where my bone was sticking out,” I quietly inform him. “That bump you feel is due to the smaller fragments not healing together smoothly.”

His Royal BAMFness makes no fuss over this, but I can see on his face that the reality of what I’ve been through is sinking in.

“What about these?” He gestures at the identical scarring on the inside of my ankle and near my knee.

“Those are from where the surgeon screwed in the rod.”

He looks at me, kind of puzzled. “Rod?”

“Yeah there’s a titanium rod that,” I take a deep breath, because sometimes this gets to me, “they screwed into my bone here, and here, to stabilize the fracture while it healed,” I explain, pointing to the respective incisions. “It will stay there.”

He points at the long incision that begins from the center of my kneecap. “And this is –“

“Where my ACL was repaired. It took 20 staples to close that incision.” I swallow hard. “And if you feel right here,” I say pointing at the outside of my calf, “there’s a hard spot caused by the trauma to the muscle there.”

“So…this is where you were hit?”

Yes sir, my entire right side was banged the fuck up.”

“And you clenching your hand is…an effect?”

I nod. “Mostly of my brain injury, but yes. Mostly when I’m stressed or angry…or uh,” I can feel my face get hot, “I’ve recently found out when, uh, something feels really good during sex.”

He snickers a bit, then smirks at me. “Well at least then I know I’m doing something right.”

“Oh yes, sir, “ I respond enthusiastically, “trust me that’s a good sign…as painful for me as it can be to do that.”

Sea Duke has another look at my leg, before he pulls my pant leg down, and I can tell he’s at least saddened by what I’ve told him. “Is this…is this why you, uh, haven’t let me –“

“Mostly, yes,” I answer, knowing where this question was going. “Also because I’ve never done that before, either. That’s been a one-way passage for 31 years.”

“Well…maybe now you feel better about it,” he muses, somewhat hopeful.

“It’s helped, yes. I just…have a difficult time truly opening up.” I absent-mindedly fiddle with the Thin Blue Line ring on my right hand.

“Ah yes…trauma does that to people…” he says, speaking from experience, I’m assuming.

“I need to nest,” I declare, rather abruptly. Sea Duke doesn’t stop me as I retrieve my Royal Navy greatcoat, returning to the sofa only to hide in it.

“Do you want me to stay?”

I contemplate for about a minute. “Yes,” I answer, instinctively leaning up against him.

Sea Duke says nothing, but his right hand finds mine, and I, rather inadvertently, tighten my grip.

“I’m sorry…” I say into space.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he tells me.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been 2 hours since I’d cocooned for the night, and I was nowhere near going to sleep. My greatcoat nest, which usually did not fail in comforting me, wasn’t helping. There was just too much “noise” in my head. I tried to think of what would be causing this, and came to the conclusion that it must be anxiety regarding the, uh, “progression” of this unusual relationship I found myself in. But where was this uneasiness coming from? I knew I wanted it, he knew I wanted, this was a mutual and consenting agreement, so what was the issue? 

“It scares me,” I declare to the darkness. I was not accustomed to appearing vulnerable at all, and to allow myself to be put in the most vulnerable position (both physically and emotionally) was more intimidating than telling him I’d blow him in the first place. I still can’t do that stone cold sober, but it takes less beer now…plus, he’s learned if he works me up I don’t need to drink to do it. Any progress is progress, don’t judge me. To his credit, he’s been way more patient with me in this respect than I expected, especially since his wife doesn’t exactly refuse offerings of Royal Navy D, but I low-key feel like shit for never really “being ready” emotionally, and I fear this will lead to him being bored and leaving another metaphorical scar on my psyche that won’t heal.

I sigh heavily in frustration, and stare at my phone as I debate on calling him.

“Stop being a pansy ffs you survived a car you can handle this nonsense,” I tell myself, “besides, he used to command a fuckin’ ship a random ass call in the night is no big deal.” I pick up my phone, bury myself in my greatcoat nest, and call him, not really expecting an answer. To my surprise, he does answer, and even more surprising is he doesn’t even sound irritated.

“Devin it’s bloody midnight what is going on?”

I stare blankly at the ceiling, my brain having forgot how to form intelligent sentences.

“Too much in my head…,” I reply. There’s a pause on his end, and I prepare for being told off.

“Right,” he more sighs then says, though not out of irritation, “get in here then.”

“Can I bring my greatcoat nest?”

“…..You won’t need it.”

“’K.” I hang up, and unravel myself from my nest. I get out of bed and put some pajama pants on (they have bald eagles on them because ‘Merica), and make my way to his room, praying I don’t trip over a Corgi and bust my other leg. Once there, I slide into his bed on whichever side has the most room (since he tends to sometimes literally take up the entire bed), and sure enough Sir proves I won’t need to nest becausehe gets me into almost a bear hug, and pulls me on top of him.

“Well,” I think to myself, “this is an entirely different view than I’m used to…”

“Since I can clearly tell it’s not an erection keeping you up this late, what is?”

“Uh…well…,” I frantically search for the right words to explain it, “I, uh, to be perfectly honest, I kinda hate the fact that I…I need you.” I swallow hard, trying to key my emotion in check.

“In what sense, exactly?”

“All of them,” I answer amidst a deep breath to keep myself calm.

“Ah, so it’s working then.”

“What’s working?” I ask, confused as fuck.

“Remember when I told you I’d get you out of this shell, like I did with my wife? It’s working.”

The memory suddenly hits me, and my eyes go wide. Holy shit he’s right.

“And…you’re ok with what’s in the shell?” I ask hesitantly, referring mostly to the effects my trauma has had on me. “Because sometimes I’m not…”

“That’s a bloody stupid question; why else would I bother with any of this?”

I take that as his way of saying he is, and my entire body instantly relaxes.

“I’m actually more concerned with why you have pants on.” It’s times like this I truly appreciate his ability to break awkward silences. I open my mouth to reply, but before I can say anything, he continues. “You have your rules for your nest, I have mine. Come on, pants off,” he orders as he rolls me off himself.

“But it’s always cold around here,” I explain, removing my pajamas pants and boxers anyway.

“Fuck sake, you act as though it’s the bloody arctic and like I’m not going to fucking keep you warm.” I can almost hear him roll his eyes at me.

“And how’re you gonna do that, exactly?” I ask, a smirk creeping across my face.

In one rather quick motion, Sea Duke positions himself over me, pinning my hands above my head, and I’m amazed at how turned on I am by this display. He’s definitely succeeded in getting me to be more comfortable with him.

“The way I’ve been wanting to for a few weeks now,” he says as he starts nibbling on my ear, “with Royal Navy dick.”

Lordt, this was gonna be a hell of a night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaayyy so, actaul dude sex.

“Fuck sake, you act as though it’s the bloody arctic and like I’m not going to fucking keep you warm.” I can almost hear him roll his eyes at me.

“And how’re you gonna do that, exactly?” I ask, a smirk creeping across my face.

In one rather quick motion, Sea Duke positions himself over me, pinning my hands above my head, and I’m amazed at how turned on I am by this display. He’s definitely succeeded in getting me to be more comfortable with him.

“The way I’ve been wanting to for a few weeks now,” he says as he starts nibbling on my ear, “with Royal Navy dick.”

Dear god is this really happening? Are we really about to fuck right now? Because I didn’t get the memo and…and there’s his hand…on my weaponry. Yes. Yes this is going to happen. Holy shit. Danelle is going to lose her shit when I tell her.

It doesn’t take long for me to get hard, and he lets go of my hands, satisfied with the reaction he got.

“I’m going to be honest, this will be uncomfortable at first,” he says, not stopping his work on my dick, “but when you get used to it, you’ll love it. I promise.”

I nod, and mentally prepare myself for it, although it doesn’t happen right away. Instead, he gets into a more upright position, and uh, begins the “prep work” for what’s about to happen. It’s definitely an odd sensation, and one I certainly never thought I’d find myself experiencing, but in a strange way it’s also relaxing. Mind you, he’s been working my weaponry this entire time and tbh I’m surprised I haven’t lost it by now, especially since he’s got this intense look of concentration on his face. After a few minutes of this, a sharp jolt of pleasure unlike anything I’ve experienced before shoots up my spine, and I’m borderline embarrassed at the sudden, loud outburst that comes out my mouth.

“Ah so that’s where it is,” he muses, quite satisfied with himself. “I’m going to quite enjoy this, if you keep that up.”

Is it weird that I’m like, rock hard by this point?

Sea Duke leans over me again, entwining his left hand with my right.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says, his officer demeanor showing itself again, “but the more relaxed you are, the better it will be.”

I take a few deep breaths, still unable to believe this was actually my life and this was actually going to happen. 

“I’m ready,” I say, hoping that this part goes smoothly.

With his left arm around me, he gets me into an ideal position, and carefully proceeds to slide in, taking time to either reassure me or, when my grip tightens on his hand, ask if things are alright. Once he’s full in, he gives me a small peck on the forehead.

“Well done,” he whispers to me, and resumes feeling me up as he waits for my body to adjust to him.

Thankfully, this doesn’t take long, and, unsure of exactly how to convey that, half-assed claw at his back.

“Eager for it, aren’t you?” He smirks at me, then snickers when my face goes red.

“Dammit just…”

“Just what?” He punctuates this question with a good, quick thrust.

“THAT. Do…that…”

“Oh! Fuck sake use your words.”

Damn him and his playing dumb. Almost immediately, he finds that spot (my sudden vocalization informs him of this), and he establishes his rhythm. Despite the act he puts on in public, he’s actually got more of a “soft side” than even I thought…of course, until recently I was never in a position (lol position) to see it. His pace varies from “I don’t want to hurt you” to “I’ve been at sea for 3 months” and everything in between. Try as I might to form actual words, the sensation proves too much, and all I can do is once again resort to rather uncivilized vocals and grabbing at him. Lost in both the quitter noises he’s making and the knowledge that he’s actually enjoying this as much as I am, it doesn’t escape me that the end is near for me.

My eyes go wide and my breathing gets faster, and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Sensing this, Sea Duke sits upright again, and, with a firm grip on my hips, sends me over the edge with a few deep, hard thrusts. Muscles I wasn’t even aware of twitch, especially in my legs, and I’m fairly certain I’ve woken up anyone sleeping in the vicinity with the noise I’ve made. He doesn’t last much longer, and while he’s less noisy about it, the grip he has on me tells me his release was just as powerful (and arguably less messy).

“Holy hell,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“Well I have no doubt you enjoyed that…judging by all the noise… and…this,” he gestures at the result of what he’s done, though at least it’s just on my belly.

“Sorry,” I mutter, somewhat exhausted.

“Don’t be,” he says as he slowly pulls out, “to be honest your noises alone could get me off.” He lays on top of me again, seemingly more satisfied that he finally got what he wanted rather than anything else, puts his arms around me. I sigh contentedly, feeling at peace for the first time in a while, and sleep finally comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danelle is gatcombepark


	8. Chapter 8

I silently curse the offending light from the sunrise which woke me up, because damn it I’d gotten maybe 4 hours of sleep throughout the night. Initially, the only things I’m aware of are a) I’m naked, b) there’s a warmth not caused by my greatcoat nest, and c) I can’t seem to roll over due to there being the weight of something/one on top of me.

With a somewhat irritated sigh, I rub the sleep out my eyes and blink a few times, allowing my brain to fully take stock of my situation. I nearly have a damn coronary at seeing Sea Duke no shit staring at me, and instead of the usual, civilized greeting of “good morning,” my eyes get real wide and I rather unsuccessfully attempt to squirm away. Because holy shit who expects to wake up with someone else’s face like 2 inches from yours? After about 30 seconds, I come to my sense and realize nothing is wrong, and I relax, although I do feel my ears get hot because oh god how embarrassing.

“You finished?” Sea Duke asks, somewhat amused at my display.

I turn my head, facing away from him and exhale sharply, similar to the manner in which an irritated bull does. The irritation lies more with myself, because I know a lot of my mannerisms now are not “normal,” and sometimes I am unable to “just relax.”

“Yes,” I reply in a more stoic manner than I’d have liked to. I fully expected to be chastised for my “attitude,” but instead he just…waits for me to calm down? This is certainly a new experience for me.

“I’m sorry, “ I say, turning my head back towards him while trying fight the instinct to avoid his gaze.

“For what, exactly? Because I have no complaints at all. I mean, considering your inexperience, you were a damn good lay.”

Well THAT certainly got my face to go red.

“Um…I can’t…I can’t…,” I sigh again, the words failing to come out properly. “I understand now why, if what I’ve read is true, your wife wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“She still doesn’t , for the record.”

I snort-giggle in a rather undignified manner, something which actually does cause me some embarrassment on occasion. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, thankfully. In fact he seems amused by it, because he fails to keep a straight face as well.

Sea Duke suddenly grabs me face with one of his hands, in such a way that my chin is basically resting between his thumb and index finger, and he once again locks eyes with me. For a brief second I feel my heart skip a beat, in preparation to go into “fight or flight” mode. 

“Relax,” he orders, going into officer mode again.

“I want to, but….everyone in my life has been temporary. No one’s…stayed…” I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. “I’m…scared on day you’ll leave too.” I blink away the tears trying to form in my eyes. I can see a hint of sadness in his as I tell him this. I must say, I’m not at all equipped to deal with such emotion so early in the day, but a weird way it’s a form of therapy…if this situation is to continue, I need to learn how to be vulnerable, as uncomfortable as it makes me. Oddly enough, I should thank him, because weather he realizes it or not (which he probably does), he almost makes me confront these issues. But as unprepared for emotion as I am, I’m even more unprepared to be on the receiving end of the kiss…not so much the romantic type, but the kind that conveys a messages when there are no words…the kind that is meant to reassure you.

‘”I’m not bloody going anywhere,” he tells me. “Now. Shall we get breakfast? Or do you want more Royal Navy dick?”

“Can’t I have both?” I ask, half joking with him.

“Devin if you can eat while getting laid I’d question how the fuck I let my priorities in life get mixed up, because being able to do that would have saved me a lot of trouble when traveling.”


End file.
